Whitherward
by minni
Summary: Before Albus Dumbledore saved the Wizarding world in 1945, there was a girl. There was an affair. Decisions were made. A candid look at love, circumstance and strength. Prequel to "A Private Affair".
1. Chapter 1

These characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.

*Rating subject to change*

* * *

**Chapter One: Onward**

The newspaper crinkled in his hands as he untied the string that bound the pages together. Today's headline was not reassuring: DUSSELDORF BOMBED BY MUGGLES.

No hope; no hope at all, he thought to himself as he dropped the string in his lap to read. His eyes poured over the article, his lips twitching and hands shaking ever so slightly. What had the world come to? One hour is all it took to destroy an entire city.

With a sad sigh, Albus Dumbledore put it down.

War was happening. The seas had been brooding, the fires stoking for what felt like ages, but it was certainly happening now in what seemed like a torrential storm of flame. All those deaths; all the hundreds more that would happen. Merlin.

Those poor people.

The man swallowed and leaned back into his armchair, empty hands groping for something to do and ultimately finding one another. His thumbs made small circles, first forward and then back. With a dry mouth, Albus nodded to himself. Things were not getting any better for the muggles who were in open war, how could the wizarding world possibly make headway in the shadows? How could anyone win while Gellert's forces were working simultaneously with his muggle countrymen?

He leaned forward, a striking thought occurring to him. Was there any possibility Gellert was in Dusseldorf? Albus leaned back again with a frown. No damned chance. He was hiding somewhere smarter than that.

A deep sigh escaped the man's lips. He could not stay at Hogwarts for much longer. Things had been bad for several years now, but there didn't seem to be an end for the muggles and Gellert Grindewald was only getting more powerful. It was his duty to join the forces, to defeat the enemy. There was no one else and he knew it—no one else knew it, but he did and felt guilty for waiting this long.

He clicked his tongue and stood up, allowing the paper to slide onto the floor of his study in his rooms. He'd have a word with Armando at lunch; maybe find a time for a meeting. It was silly to stay. Surely Armando could see that by now. Surely it would be obvious that his place was no longer at the school. It wasn't right when students weren't coming to Hogwarts in the name of battle. Several of them had been lost, those young men.

The man swallowed.

Perhaps he'd even be given leave after the first term. There were others, others that maybe were injured who could take his place. It was just transfiguration, was it not? A child could do it.

He rolled his eyes. If only he could believe that. Where were all the geniuses, now? No doubt helping the muggles make devices of war. No. Albus shook his head. Merlin, he was in a bad mood.

He scratched the back of his head. Better get a move-on with the day instead of brooding over these awful circumstances. No one wanted him in such a hateful depression.

Gray robes were already lying over his bed, ready to wear. Albus went down the three or four useless stairs to the lower landing and flung them on without ceremony. No hat today; hats were for good days; good days and funerals.

The man didn't even look into a mirror before combing his hair to the side, free of product or water. Just grease from an evening's sleep. He looked fine, fine enough to teach a few classes to the future of the wizarding world. It was an important job, really. They needed him, didn't they? Well, they needed his mind. If only there was a way to transpose his mind into another body and let his skins roam about Europe in search of Gellert. That would be the ticket, wouldn't it?

He gave out a small chuckle. He was really losing it, wasn't he?

The little smile stayed on his lips as he collected his books for his morning classes. It was a shame that he started with first years this term: all they could ever talk about was what was discussed at breakfast. Although he had not eaten in the Great Hall that morning, he knew the subject matter that was to flood his classroom. Alas for them, he had lessons to plow through. Whatever anyone's feelings, life had to move on.

He hurried his way out of his rooms and down the corridor. The walk to his classroom was not far—it was the closest room of value to him. Why his office would be on the completely opposite side of the castle was beyond his comprehension. But as always, one continues.

It was empty when he got there, of course. Class didn't start for another ten minutes and what reason did they have to leave breakfast early? Even he who loved a challenge more than anything wasn't about to leave food before he was forced to. No reason for the rapidly sprouting teenagers to hurry for an hour of sitting and listening. Merlin, he even bored himself sometimes.

The books made a loud thud as he plopped them upon his desk. He took no time in starting to write his lesson on the chalkboard, his back to the room. No sooner had he written his first sentence than he heard some single pair of footsteps. He stopped for a second to wait for a similar thud on any given desk, but none came.

He looked over his shoulder to see which star student had made it to class first, but was surprised to see not a first year, but a seventh. Chalk still in hand, he turned to face the girl. He put on a pleasant smile, even if he didn't feel particularly pleasant. "Can I help you, Miss McGonagall?"

"I'm sorry to bother you professor, but I was wondering if we could schedule a meeting? There's something I would like to discuss with you."

The man blinked, a little puzzled. He cleared his throat and looked on the Head Girl with concern, "Has something happened?"

Miss Minerva McGonagall shook her head with a soft smile, "No, I was hoping you would help me with a…uh…" she looked for the words, "well I have a request. But I don't have time to explain it now. Which is why I would like a meeting."

Still perplexed, but intrigued, Albus nodded his head and reached on his desk for his calendar. His eyes skimmed over it all. "I have free periods tomorrow at nine and three forty-five. Would either of those work for you? I can also find time this weekend."

She bobbed her head slowly in thought, conceivably running her schedule through her own mind. "Four? I'll be coming from down in the dungeons."

He scribbled into his book the time and looked up at her with a serious nod. "Four will do fine. I'll see you in this room at four o'clock tomorrow."

"Four o'clock," she nodded while making eye contact with him and then backed away with a brusqueness that often accompanied the girl.

The man cleared his throat after she went and his first years seemed to magically begin piling in. Better get writing. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

R&R SVP


	2. A Request

**Chapter Two: A Request**

Minerva McGonagall casually flipped to the next page and dipped her quill in ink.

It didn't bother her that the pages were so thin that the ink bled. Her tune would probably change the next time she went to read her notes in a year or so, but there was something sort of satisfying about seeing the black sink and spread through the white; like a chain reaction; like potions; like transfiguration. She smiled smugly to herself: using science on a scientific journal was a bit heavy-handed, wasn't it? Absolutely not, she thought with a smile and began scratching away.

She whispered as she wrote, "E-mul-ssion" in the margin. With a satisfied nod, she blew on the runny ink for a short second and closed the book.

Time for quidditch.

She stuffed the book into her sack and did the same with her quill and ink. "Knox," she whispered. The bag fell without ceremony to the base of the tree in the dark, soon followed by the young girl who would rather jump down than climb. As if it were nothing (and maybe it wasn't) she gathered up her things and began walking in the direction of the brightly lit quidditch pitch.

It would be a good day to play, a good day to get some real practice in. They all needed it, but especially the newcomers. They'd have to spend some real time on flight patterns and dodging maneuvers—they all could fly and hold a ball well enough, but there was no particular talent. It was a rebuilding year, unfortunately.

"Wait up, McGonagall!"

Minerva turned around quickly to see who it was that wanted her attention, but was not surprised at all to see Jez half-running, half-strutting down the hill as he attempted to fight the loose mud. She laughed inwardly to herself—Merlin, she wished he'd fall flat on his face. The grin stayed on her lips, though he probably thought she was smiling _for_ him instead of _at_ him.

"Where are you coming from? Thought I would have run into you on the way out from the Great Hall," the brown-eyed boy said, having recovered his ability to be suave.

"My tree," she said matter-of-factly and added, "It's been a nice day out—as nice as they can be this time of year, anyhow. Been up there all day."

"That it is," the boy agreed with a nod, perhaps not having heard the end of her thought. He reached out a hand, "Can I take your bag for you?"

She took a look at his empty hands and could think of no real reason to object beyond her disinterest in getting tangled up in the mess that was Jeremy Kotler, so she bumped it off of her shoulder and handed it to him. It was heavier than she made it look. His hands sunk forward under the weight, but he played it off well, acting as if it were a show. He threw it over his own shoulder with an embarrassed smile. "What do you have in here? I thought you only have one class on Thursdays?"

The girl blinked and repeated with an unamused look, "I've been up there all day, studying."

"Studying, eh?"

She bobbed her head, "Yes, studying," but was not about to tell him more without his prompting. He didn't care and she didn't care if he did.

"Did you even go to dinner?" he asked.

Typical boy, always going on about food; wouldn't have occurred to him that she purposefully avoided him and the Great Hall when he was likely to be there. Her voice came out pleasantly as it was wont to do, "I had some leftovers from lunch, so I just stayed and studied."

He nodded his head, having heard what she said but feeling perplexed over this concept. Not only had Jeremy never missed a meal, but he had never understood Minerva's desire to occasionally be alone to her thoughts. He loved people. Maybe that's why he was the Captain—it didn't hurt that he'd dated the previous captain until recently, either. But that was fine. Minerva had no desire to take on that responsibility as well. She just didn't care for a boy with that much visible ego wafting around the premises.

When they got to the quidditch pitch, she helped him to move the equipment to the center of the pitch. They would be separating today into positions, Minerva working alongside her fellow chasers as well as the keeper, Jez taking the beaters. It would be nice, she thought, if they could play a mini-match after with Jez as the referee, but of course she had little interest in telling the Captain that he ought to sit back and leave his teammates to practice. Still, the idea of sending murmurs out through the team appealed to her. Maybe that would be a bit backhanded, though.

The girl sighed and waited for the rest of the team to make a circle, as they were accustomed to doing. She looked from person to person. She knew all of their names by now, but none of them had taken the opportunity to really chat with her. Her eyes looked over Constance and Ben, her fellow chasers, followed by Albert who was their new keeper. Harris and Walter were late, but that surprised no one. Minerva looked up at Jeremy, her lips pursed and ready to speak.

The boy captain shrugged and looked at the rest of the team. "You'll be with McGonagall today, doing some specialized training. I'll wait on the other two," he looked at Minerva, "Take the north side of the pitch. We'll regroup when you're ready."

Minerva bobbed her head at Jez and motioned in the direction of the pitch, "Off we get."

She led the other three onto the field, quaffle in one hand and broom in the other. Her eyes looked around the pitch and up to the stands. She liked to do this to get her bearings—it was so large and she was so small. Up in the north corner, she spotted a lone figure dressed in grey. A smile fell on her lips soon followed by determination. Her gaze fell to the other three who were waiting for instruction. "Try to look good. Professor Dumbledore is here."

Constance, Albert and Ben all looked up to where Minerva had previously been looking, then back down at her. They saw him. Would make for a good practice, wouldn't it, if they were being watched by someone that mattered?

The girl smiled, "On your brooms, then. Albert, we're going to start with some target practice. I hope you didn't eat too much. You'll be moving more than you're used to."

She was the first to push off with her broom.

* * *

"Where'd you put the quaffle?" Jeremy asked with frustration as he leaned over the chest of quidditch equipment, having just forced a bludger into its home as it were. He let out a deep sigh as he lifted his head up to look at Minerva who had the quaffle in her outstretched hands. The boy grabbed it without another word and jammed it into its spot in the box.

Minerva looked on numbly, begging him mentally to get a move-on. It was just a frustrating practice, no need to hold on to the anger and take it out on her. In any case, she was ready to climb into bed.

"There," he breathed and shut the chest.

"Good practice," a new figure stated from the base of the stairs.

The girl turned her head to see Professor Dumbledore. She'd forgotten that he had even been there. Imagine! She smiled kindly at him, thankful for someone who had a positive bone somewhere in his body.

Jeremy cleared his throat and stood up straight, "Thank you, Professor. We'll need a bit more work, though, if we're going to win all of our matches."

"Yes," the man nodded in agreement, "but so do the other teams. Should be an interesting year."

The boy nodded, "I just hope we can hold our own."

"You'll get there," the Professor smiled with encouragement. He clasped his hands dramatically as if to change the subject, "Well," he looked over at Minerva, "any chance you're moving in the direction of the castle, Miss McGonagall? As it turns out, your request for a meeting cannot be made for tomorrow. Thought we might either reschedule or chat on the way back, if that suits you."

"Oh," she cocked her head to the side, surprised. She shrugged, "No, that will be fine." The girl practically jumped in the direction of her new company which was not, in fact, an intolerable pretty-boy. She looked behind her at Jez who still had to put the equipment away. "Think you can handle the rest on your own?"

The frustration in his eyes was amplified, but he nodded with a forced grin, "I think so."

Without another thought, Minerva grabbed her book bag and nodded to Professor Dumbledore as a sign that they could start.

The man nodded to Jez, "I'm sorry for taking away your helper. We can wait, if you'd prefer?"

"No," Jez shook his head, "Thank you, but I'll manage."

"Very well, then," the Professor gave another nod and walked towards Minerva, who was a solid ten feet away from where she had previously been standing. "Ready? I don't want to rush you, either."

Minerva shook her head, "No, I'm ready to go back, Professor." And so she began walking, Professor Dumbledore walking next to her.

They walked in silence only until they had cleared the quidditch pitch, at which point Minerva looked up at the Professor with a soft, thankful smile. "Wish you'd have come to a better practice."

He shook his head and shrugged, "They're never good in the beginning. It will all fall into place eventually. Hopefully it's before your first match."

"Hopefully," she nodded in agreement and clicked her tongue as she looked on to her Transfiguration Professor. Her heart was racing and only just then realized it. The girl took in a deep breath. Nerves were a killer. She placed a slightly twitchy hand on her book bag. He wanted to talk about the meeting. The girl cleared her throat, hoping to come off somewhat casually, "We can't have our meeting tomorrow, Professor?"

The Professor nodded sadly, "That free period I had has been taken up by the Headmaster. I apologize for the inconvenience. We can either reschedule, or, if you'd like, I have time now?" He looked on her quizzically. The man had no idea what she wanted from him. "What did you wish to chat about?"

The girl swallowed, realizing that she had no time to practice her approach. "Well," she said quietly, hoping to give herself time, "Professor, I have an ambition to become an animagus. I was h-hoping that you might be willing to take me through some lessons, practice sessions, if you will." She looked up at him, not sure what to expect.

"Hm," he scratched his chin, thinking this over. "I'm not an animagus myself. I don't know that I could help you."

"The thing is," she said gently having been more or less rejected from the thing she most wanted, "there is no one on the grounds who is registered and you're the Transfiguration Professor, which leads me to think that you're the best available," she scratched her arm uncomfortably. "I've…I've read some terrible things about transformations gone wrong. If things do go wrong…I would want someone who knows what they're doing around me."

The man sighed, clearly not wanting to hurt her feelings, "Surely having someone in the medical field would be more appropriate? Perhaps Madame Pomfrey?"

She had given this much thought. Minerva shook her head, "Potions only get you so far, Professor. Besides, if something did go wrong, you would have to find the potion in question first, if that's even applicable. Somehow I don't think that there is a potion that could transfigure skeletons back into their normal form."

This made sense to him. He seemed troubled by the idea, though. He shook his head, "Why an animagus?"

She countered, "Is it wrong to have ambition?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, "No, ambition is not a bad thing. But there are other less dangerous things that you could turn into a hobby. Why not learn a language? Mermish is difficult to master. Or you could invent a spell."

Minerva shook her head, "I have spent all of my time here at Hogwarts doing what was asked of me, to learn what all the professors can teach me. I'm in my seventh year and I find myself reading more than is required, doing more than what is required, thinking more than what is required." She sighed, "I want to learn about something that I'm actually interested in because the rest of it seems so…empty, now." She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. There. That was it.

The Professor cleared his throat, his eyes looking upon her with judgment. He swallowed and nodded his head slowly, having perhaps processed her plea. "How do you see these lessons happening? Where? How often? What would you want me to do?"

Inwardly she was jumping up and down with excitement. A wide grin fell on her face, "I'll do all the planning and research. I just need someone there when I practice. You can grade, even, while I practice, if you want. I would want to practice two or three times a week. Maybe just for an hour. I expect I'll be frustrated and tired by the end. I don't suppose it would be wise to plan for much more time than that."

He nodded slowly, "You want me to be there so far as that if something goes wrong, you will be cared for. Is that correct?"

Minerva moved her head up and down emphatically.

The Professor let out a sigh, "Evenings, I expect?"

"Yes," she was quick to reply with a grin that wouldn't leave. "We can compare schedules, if you'd like. I have quidditch practice and student-staff meetings to schedule around, as I assume you have things."

"I do," he bobbed his head. He swallowed, looking slightly uneasy, "Give me a copy of your schedule and we'll plan from there. I do want to make sure that you are aware of the fact that this is no small undertaking."

"I do," she nodded. After all, she _had_ done all of the research. Of course her goal was to have done it within two months—not that she would be sharing that at the moment.

The man sighed and shrugged, "I'll have to check in with Professor Dippet. He may want to chat with you as well. Make sure your head is on right and all that," he gave her a kind, playful smile. "If there is a student here that can do it, I do believe that it's you."

She believed it, too. Minerva gave a thankful nod and smile, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he stated matter-of-factly as they took on the first step to the school.

* * *

**R&R SVP. **


	3. Lesson One

**Chapter Three: Lesson One**

"It is that time," Albus stared at the best and brightest, none of whom seemed excited to hear him say the words. "That's right," he nodded with his own sense of false enthusiasm, "papers, please."

There was a general rustling of paper as essays were passed from the back to the front without any further ado. He waited patiently at the front before summoning each stack into the basket on his desk. Albus clasped his hands together, pushing through the infectious and uninterested mood of the room. He blamed lunch. Who ever decided that learning right after eating was a good idea?

Albus took in a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, hoping he'd somehow see the world differently if a new secretion of liquid filled his pupils. Short of a few students twitching, it seemed more or less the same. But he refused, _refused_ to let himself catch the drowsies. What was he complaining about, anyway? He'd had a sandwich.

"How was the experience, your first paper since coming back?" he said onto the blasé class. A few of them looked up at him, most looked down. He clicked his frustrated tongue, "Did none of you get any sleep?"

Mr. Carlton, as if on cue, gave out a snore-like breath that could be heard throughout the room. His head snapped up.

Miss Paige looked up at Albus, eyes in a fog.

Miss McGonagall next to her bowed her head in the negative.

The man inhaled and exhaled slowly. Unacceptable. "Up. Everyone, stand up." Some of the students looked at each other, but none stood up. "_Now!_" he growled. A general rumbling of feet shifting and chairs skidding filled the room. They were all looking at him, now. Good. He scanned the room, most of them seemingly too tired to even look scared. Damn it all, he would not have such a complacent _7__th__ year NEWT _class. "Why are you all here, in this class this year? What do you want out of it? If you wanted a _nap_, you shouldn't have taken it. I realize that it's Friday," he nodded as he began walking between the aisles, "I realize that you all were up late writing a paper because you all are naturally prone to procrastination and I realize that you have all just finished luncheon, but it is not acceptable that I must spend the first half hour of a lesson waking you all up! What can I possibly do to make this _not_ a regular occurrence?" He began walking back up the aisle towards the chalkboard.

He put a hand on Miss Paige's shoulder who was the nearest student, "What do you think? You always have ideas."

The girl looked up slowly at him with horror on her face, "Professor, there isn't any coffee or tea until the week-end. And sugar. We can't go at the speed we were." Bluntness was in fact a strong point for her—not that he agreed with her assessment.

Albus blinked and clicked his tongue. He let out a breath before rubbing his temple, "You all cannot blame the rationing for your lethargy. I like a good pudding as much as the next person, but I'm not going to quit functioning when I can't have it."

Silence.

He continued walking back up to the front and turned back round to face them. It was a pitiful excuse. "Tell me about your papers. How did it go? Did they write themselves?"

More silence.

He rolled his eyes in an effort to keep them from twitching. He was in no mood for this. "Miss McGonagall, I know you must have finished your paper before quidditch practice?"

The dark haired girl nodded her head and said with humility, her eye barely meeting his, "I finished three days ago."

At last, a student with her head on straight! "Aha!" he pointed at the girl as a jolt of electricity seemed to pass through him, "and did you find it difficult?"

"We talked about all the topics in class," she looked around the room as if she thought it were a trick question, "so no. I thought it was a good review, personally."

Albus brought his hand down, turning to face the class of ten. "Who else thought it was a 'good review'?" he looked around the room at the still standing students.

All of them raised their hands one by one, clearly fearing the consequence of not doing so. Albus sighed, unimpressed and frustrated, "I want everyone to take a class field trip to the entrance doors and return here. You're no good to me if the blood to your brains isn't pumping. Go." He looked down at Miss McGonagall kindly, "You may stay if you wish."

The girl nodded her head as a sign that she heard him, but stood up with the rest of the class and exited.

Albus sighed and buried his hands in his face before wiping away the annoyance. Did _everything_ have to be a hurdle? _EVERYTHING?_ First Armando coming in for that impromptu meeting and then all of his classes just having the worst case of the Fridays he had ever seen. He would have thought that someone in all of that would turn it all around, but no, the cosmos seemed determined to throw the day in his face.

He sat down in his desk and folded his hands on top of it, clasping them tightly.

Armando never ceased to infuriate Albus when he sought something out, especially when it was something important. It was as if he went out of his way to be a dictating nuisance, right down to the fact that he arrived hours early for their meeting without any regard for the schedule Albus had made for the day. Armando knew he couldn't function without a schedule. Damn him. If Albus had to play by the rules, why didn't the Headmaster? Maybe it was his prerogative. Albus had never wanted to be Headmaster more than he did right that second.

With a head swaying from side to side, Albus mentally traced over that meeting. Armando already knew what he wanted to chat about and therefore came in with an answer before he could plead his case. In July; July was when he could leave, July is when there would be a replacement, _July_ would be when there had been enough deaths to suffice his leaving Hogwarts. _'Albus, you're brilliant and we both know that, but one man isn't going to make a difference in this war,' _is what the great Headmaster Dippet said. Maybe he was right, but was there harm in going?

He rolled his eyes with flared nostrils. He needed to go. He needed to fight. But he felt too compelled to his duty to the school to just up and leave. Albus mentally swore at himself.

Maybe this whole business with Minerva would be good for him. Armando certainly thought so. On the contrary to Albus's request, he thought that a 7th year animagus would be '_wonderful for the image of the school'. _ While he could not argue, Albus thought Armando's priorities to be found wanting. Yes, it would be good from a public relations stand-point, but did this war not have a handle on everything; e_verything_ that went on? He sighed.

To make matters worse, he was asked to start straight away. It would be a good 'distraction' as Armando called it. False. While Albus believed in Miss McGonagall (for she was very talented), he didn't see how another set of lessons was going to distract him from the world that existed outside Hogwarts. He didn't care whether or not she became an animagus and would therefore not be invested in it—after all, she was the one who admitted that she merely needed a babysitter. God, that's what he had been reduced to: a babysitter.

Albus let out a heavy sigh. He needed to get out. He needed a real distraction. Maybe tonight he would sneak out to Hogsmeade and have a drink.

The students began filing in again, having obtained the ability to chat once more. Good. He could stand teenagers in their normal social habitat. Maybe he would keep them up and moving today. There was no hope if they sat down and allowed the sluggishness to fill their lungs like the disease that it was.

As they went from 4 to 7, Albus quickly grabbed a quill and began writing a short note: "Your first lesson will be at four this afternoon, if you are still free. My meeting was rescheduled to this morning." He placed it in Miss McGonagall's hand after she arrived at her desk.

The girl looked up at him with surprise and nodded with a small smile.

The man nodded back and returned to his desk to write in his calendar: "M.M. lesson."

* * *

The fifth year students filed out as quickly as they ever did on a Friday. Albus filed out with them, knowing that he had a short window to find his notes before the special lesson. He was well aware that he had told Miss McGonagall that he wasn't able to help her, but truth-be-told, he did have at least one piece of reading that she would need to see. The man was not in the habit of sharing his unpublished work, but if he was obligated to watch her struggle, he may as well prepare her as best he could. Even if he did it kicking and screaming, he _was_ a good teacher.

Albus hurried to his office on the other side of the school and flung the door open. Straight to his desk he darted, going around his chair and into the bottom drawer. His hands sifted through the papers until he reached the bottom. He pulled out the hard-covered pages with satisfaction and tucked it under his arm.

Out the man went without further ado, not bothering to lock the door behind him. His walk back to his classroom was more leisurely, but still with a purpose. It was good that the pages were right where he thought he left them. He was afraid that they had disappeared. After all, a copy was floating somewhere in the publishing ether at the moment and that was the one that mattered.

When he arrived once more to his classroom, he was unsurprised to see the girl dropping her bag in the seat she had chosen seven years ago. She gave a curt nod and he did the same.

Albus cleared his throat as he took the manuscript to his desk and plopped it there. "Prompt as always," he nodded as he made his cross. "How was Potions?" he asked casually, having remembered for some reason that she had that class before this.

"Typical," she replied warmly as she unpacked some books. "Professor Merriweather had us do an unscheduled practical exam. He does that every other Friday. They're not so surprising anymore."

He flipped through the copy he held in his hands. "Did you do well?"

"I did. Not the best in the class, but it turned the right color in the end."

"And what potion did he have you all make?"

From over the manuscript he could see the girl flip through some pages of her own book. He needed to get her something better than that, he noted mentally. She bit her lip as she found whatever page she was looking for and then looked up at him with a small smile, "Liquid-singe. It's meant to seal open wounds, but I've never heard of it before now."

Albus blinked, "Essence of dittany is quicker and less painful." It was funny that Thurston would have them make liquid-singe. Maybe it had some special reaction in it. It must. Why else would it burn like that? He blinked again in thought. Maybe it was just less expensive to make. It all came down to money and rationing, didn't it? "But I would think that more can be made than essence of dittany. Do you know if your potions are being donated?"

The girl gave a slow nod, "I believe so; the good ones, anyway."

He clicked his tongue, "Of course. Why wouldn't we?" he gave a curt smile and then exhaled. Better press on with this. Albus made eye contact with the girl, "May I sit next to you? I have something you ought to read before you start this project."

She nodded, "Of course. I do want to express how grateful I am that you're doing this."

Another curt smile, "You seem to believe in yourself, why shouldn't I?"

He placed the hardcover copy in front of the girl and took a seat next to her. He tapped the cover and looked her in the eye, "This, Minerva, is what I have been working on for the last year or two in an effort to direct my attention to useful sectors of this war. It is up for review right now and is not yet published. I am allowing you to read it," he nodded, "because I feel that it could help you. I would like you to read it first, and then we can chat about it."

Minerva McGonagall looked from Albus to the paper and back up to him then gave a nod. "Thank you," she said in her naturally polite manner.

"You're welcome," he said in an equally amicable tone, "You may want to take notes." Albus got up from his chosen seat, but listened carefully for the rustle of paper and quills which came momentarily. A small smile crept on his lips. She would do well in this world. If nothing else, she was intelligent enough to aim to please. What was the word she had used? Ambition. Yes, she had that.

Albus sat in his desk and began pulling out papers to grade. He hadn't meant to start on the essays that Miss McGonagall's class had just turned in, but they were at the top of the stack for whatever reason, so he did in fact start there. He glanced up at the girl who had begun reading his work. Albus gave a shrug and casually thumbed through the stack until his found the girl's most recent paper. He glanced up again at Minerva, feeling slightly devious for choosing his subject matter, but pressed on as he was accustomed to doing.

His eyes scanned the top of the parchment before he pulled the pages apart to count. She wrote more than she needed to; surprising in that there wasn't much to the assignment. Albus clicked his tongue and flipped back to the first page and began reading.

She was right earlier: she made the review look like child's play. It really shouldn't have been _that_ simple, though. This was a review of all the theories they had covered from the beginning, including her first year. The way she processed things was impressive. But Minerva McGonagall, he reminded himself, was the daughter of the great E. McGonagall who was responsible for countless transfiguration spells. It surprised no one that she had an aptitude for such things.

He glanced up again at Minerva with an impressed smile after finishing reading the last page of her beautiful writing. She was scratching away with her quill, but must have felt his gaze, for she looked up at him and gave a quick smile before looking back down. Albus was much less embarrassed, though. He nodded to himself and allowed a little bit of pride to fill his chest. "How is it?" he asked from across his desk.

Minerva looked up with a small smile, "Interesting."

The man raised an eyebrow, sensing that that was not the end of her thoughts, "Interesting but..?"

The girl's smile grew. "I think it's brilliant," she said with a nod. "I love it when disciplines are intertwined like this. It's nice to know that not everyone is narrow-minded."

Albus's lips shifted into a grin. Who doesn't like their ego fluffed? He fell back in his chair and folded his arms coolly, looking upon the girl. "You think other researchers are narrow-minded?"

"I think they all get stuck on an idea and refuse to believe in any other thinking. Why are we all being compared to machines? How has this idea possibly been kept alive for over a hundred years? Maybe we are all just _things_ and while we all have a heart and lungs and blood, we aren't an assembly line. We all grow and change at different rates." Minerva tapped the paper, "Which is what you're saying here. We are made of similar structures, but they behave differently in each body. Like with this owl, here," she looked down at the paper with enthusiasm, "by transfiguring it repetitively, the feathers got shorter and shorter. The owl _changed_."

He couldn't hide his interest. The man stood up and walked over to the girl, sitting on the table of her desk. Albus cocked his head to look at his work. "But the owl's feathers changed back," he said gently, excited to hear what she had to say in response.

She threw her arms up in the air enthusiastically, "Brilliant! He _regrew_ his feathers! That wasn't magic, that was science! That was a life. That's what it _does_, not what it's manipulated to do."

"But it was transfigured in the first place. I manipulated it," he raised an eyebrow.

"He had already grown to his full potential before he was transfigured. He just returned to his original state. Without your help."

"After several days," he nodded.

"Without your help," she combated. "Like healing a wound."

"Regeneration," he bobbed his head again with a small smirk.

"Humans do this, too?" she asked, eyes wide.

The man blinked and sat up straight. "The research seems to point to that, yes. There has not been much research done—maybe none," he scratched his head, "The magical world is not in the habit of transfiguring our own species. Except of course," he clicked his tongue, "animagi." Albus gave the girl a kind smile.

Her head bobbed slowly with understanding, "So the point is that these lessons shouldn't be done too quickly."

With a bit of a shrug, he nodded, "_My_ point is that while animagi have existed for centuries, there is room to believe that magic like that is not always safe."

"If you're trying to deter me, you won't succeed," she shook her head adamantly.

Unsurprised, he shook his head, "I know I won't. Even if I told you that me helping you was a mistake, you would go and learn on your own. You know what you want and you will obtain it," he gave a smile. He knew the girl's type—moreover, he knew teenagers as a general whole did whatever they wanted if left to their own devices. "I just wanted to be sure that you knew everything you could possibly know before pressing on."

He stared onto the girl who looked up with some sort of fire in her eyes. "I do," she stated with certainty. "I am ready."

"You are," he agreed, knowing there was nothing more to be said. In any case, he was left without a choice but to be there with her. Regardless of what he may or may not actually think, Miss McGonagall was going to get her lessons and she had to believe that he thought she could do it. That was how mentoring worked.

A soft, kind smile crept on his lips, "I think our next step is to find when we would best plan these lessons." With a nod, the man walked back to his desk and grabbed his date book before circulating back. He sat next to her this time and opened the book. "When are you most free? I know many of your evenings and weekends are filled with quidditch."

"I don't have quidditch Tuesdays, Wednesdays or Fridays…and some Sundays. All of our matches are scheduled for Sunday this term."

"Right," he nodded and scanned over his life, "I have staff meetings Tuesday nights and of course twice a month a meeting with student-staff members, which you certainly will be attending as well." He flipped the page, "And that will take us through October. I have some events in November, but that's too far off to worry about," he clicked his tongue and made eye contact with Miss McGonagall, "So that leaves us with Wednesdays and Fridays. I think we should avoid the weekends—let us both be free to have some fun," he smiled gently.

"That's perfect," the girl nodded. "What time?"

"After dinner, I would think. Shall we say seven?"

A warm, excited sort of smile filled the girl's face as she nodded, "Seven it is. Here?"

He moved his head in the affirmative, "Right here. Now," he reached over and grabbed the papers in front of the girl, "I think we're done here for today. Do think on how you would like to proceed with this next week."

Minerva began putting her notes in her bag and nodded, "I will. There isn't exactly an 'how to' guide for this sort of thing, though."

Albus stood up, "I imagine that's why you've brought me on for this."

She stood up and lifted her bag to her shoulder in one smooth swoop, "I think that makes sense," she bobbed her head. "If not before, I'll see you on Tuesday at the meeting."

The man blinked. Would it really be that long? It would, wouldn't it? He didn't have his NEWT class until Wednesday; Wednesday and Friday. How funny. He cleared his throat, "I imagine we'll run into one another at some point. After all, we are both confined to this castle," his lips motioned upward gently.

"We are," she nodded and began taking a few steps back towards the entrance.

"Have a nice weekend," Albus said gently as she turned around with a nod. Before she could respond a thought occurred to him. He called, "Have you thought about what animal you would like to change into?"

Minerva turned around with a soft, confident smile, "A cat."

A cat? "That will do nicely."

The girl nodded once again, turned around and left.

Albus looked back down at his date book and closed it. Merlin knows why he piled more work onto himself.

* * *

R&R SVP


	4. Climate

**Chapter Four: Climate**

"What do you mean cleansing? Cleansing of what?" Jez threw her arms up in the air. "He's_ using_ the muggles, why would he be strategically killing them off?" He brought his hands to his head and threw them out again, "You're mad. He just wants to make a statement."

Minerva looked casually across the Gryffindor common room, her attention being called to the conversation. She put her quill on her notebook, but otherwise pretended to be reading her potions book.

Gwen folded her arms and stepped forward, "A statement about _what_ if it isn't the muggles? What is the point otherwise?"

"He's an evil bloke, it's what they do."

"Oh, and I suppose you've met hundreds of men trying to take over the world?"she put her hands on her hips.

"If he was TRYING TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD," he flapped his arms wildly, "HE WOULD HAVE DONE IT BY NOW!"

Minerva stood up and approached the two calmly.

"HOW?! He doesn't have the power to just up and tell the muggles that it's our Europe now. How would he d-"

"HE'S A WIZAAARD!"

The girl placed a hand on either of her friends. They both turned and looked at her with fiery eyes, then back at each other. "That doesn't mean he can just up and blow everyone to smithereens!" Jez hissed.

"Why not?!" Gwen's voice rose, "the muggles are doing it to themselves!"

Minerva cleared her throat, "This conversation needs to stop. If you want to FIGHT about things none of us know anything about, take it outside the common room."

Gwen's eyes were locked with Jez's, "Fine." She turned around and walked away like the spoiled brat she was, heel kick and all. Minerva watched as she made her way up the common room stairs to her dormitory, oblivious for the moment of the multitudes of swearing happening under Jez's breath.

Minerva hit his chest with the back of her hand after she had gone.

"What was that for?!" he brought his hand to where she struck.

The girl pursed her lips. He knew why. "You are a role model, Jez. You can't be getting into _political arguments_ in the Gryffindor common room after hours!" her voice rose.

He crossed his arms, "She started it. Batty girl just wanted to get my blood boiling."

"So what?" She threw her arms to the side, "You shouldn't take her bait. You know she likes drama. Be better than that," she nodded with brazen encouragement.

Jez scratched his arm and nodded with embarrassment. "You don't think she's right, do you?"

Minerva blinked and clicked her tongue, "I'm not in a position to have opinions like that. What's happening outside these walls are beyond our control and when it all comes down to it, whatever we think isn't going to change the outcome. If you want to play grown-up, then go and fight. Otherwise," she nodded, "keep it to yourself."

"You don't think it's our business?" He folded his arms.

"I think," she leaned up to him with certainty in her eyes, "that your business as a student is to study and play quidditch. It IS after hours. Maybe you should sleep?"

"Better remove that broom, McGonagall," he grimaced as he started towards his set of dormitory stairs, "You'll need it for practice."

Minerva clicked her tongue as she watched him go up in a huff. If they weren't apt to kill each other first, she'd swear that Gwen and Jez were a match made in heaven. Not only were they both opinionated, but they were too proud to listen. Just keep it to yourselves, that's all she asked .

With a sigh, the girl looked around the Common Room at the other Gryffindors whose studies had been interrupted. She gave a nod to them and went back to her potions book.

Hardly had she read a full sentence before she decided that she had better not. It had been quite the full Sunday and there was no point staying up, especially if her heart was still racing.

After gathering her things, she made her way up the stairs until she reached her room. Lights were low, but not off. They didn't usually turn completely off until one or so-Helen was not only a procrastinator, but a bad one at that.

"How far have you gotten?" Minerva asked the girl kindly as she passed her bed by the door.

The mousy-haired girl looked up at Minerva sadly, "I've barely made a dent. Just four paragraphs."

"How long does it have to be?"

Helen gave a long sigh, "About eight times that...plus drawings. Merlin, I hate astronomy. Why did I take this class?"

"Because you love it," Minerva said gently, "You'll remember that after you've finished."

"I just wish it came more naturally to me. Like you and EVERYTHING."

The Head Girl chuckled, "You think that's true? There's a reason I dropped astronomy."

Helen rolled her eyes, "Right, to make room for transfiguration."

Minerva plopped her books on her bed, "That's not fair. I couldn't DROP transfiguration-my mother would have my head."

"So would Professor Dumbledore," a voice from the next bed over said. Minerva turned her head to see Gwen who was brushing her hair. "Still can't believe you didn't stay and gloat."

Minerva rolled her eyes.

"Gloat about what?" Helen walked over and sat on the edge of Gwen's bed with interest, clearly looking for a distraction.

"Nothing," Minerva clicked her tongue.

"Come off it. Professor Dumbledore starts up class and we're all in awful moods because we've been working on papers all night-this is Friday-and he asks us how we thought we did. Minerva says that she thought it was easy-which it was NOT-and when no one else agrees, he sends us out! He tells Minerva that she can stay because she said what he wanted to hear, but she goes with us, anyway. I just don't get it."

"First of all, I'm not going to lie to him. I thought it was easy. Second" the Head Girl tapped two fingers against her opposite hand, "I'm not going to stay when everyone has been dismissed. That's uncomfortable."

"I'd have stayed just to look at Professor Dumbledore," Helen giggled.

Minerva couldn't help but crack a small smile. This was the joke, wasn't it? Gwen grinned as well, "I love the thing he has going on here," she ran her fingers demonstratively from either side of her head from her ears to her chin. "So attractive!"

Helen giggled again.

Minerva rolled her eyes, "Yes, it's very attractive," she spoke dismissively. She didn't have time for this. He was a professor-and while she did not disagree with them, she saw no point in fantasizing about anything that was implausible. At least when they talked about boys in their year it made sense.

Minerva placed her things gently onto the bookshelf beside her bed while the other two girls continued to gush, occasionally allowing her mind to pick up on keywords, including 'fetching', 'short skirt', and 'cock'. She chose to ignore it even though it was wildly inappropriate only because they were in their private dormitory. Moreover, it was amazing the things one learned from hormonal teens. If nothing else, Minerva gained her own vocabulary of sexual jargon from them-Merlin knows she wouldn't be getting it from anywhere else.

"I dare you," Helen giggled.

Minerva looked over from her neat shelf at them, her ears having perked up. "What are you daring her to do?"

Gwen glowed, "Send Professor Dumbledore an anonymous," she ran her brush through her golden hair, "letter of interest."

She inhaled and exhaled slowly, knowing full well that it was an awful idea, but nodded, "Just don't use your normal handwriting. Print or...something."

"Oh I'll do...something," the girl giggled mischievously.

Minerva gave her a judgmental look for the second time that night, "I know flirting is your best subject, but don't do anything stupid."

"It's not as though you're going to tattle on me," Gwen said as she placed her brush beside her bed. She then proceeded to dig through her unkempt drawers for something to wear to bed.

The Head Girl felt very much inclined to challenge her on that score; terrible assumption. Her well-embedded morals came first... Or at least she would think twice about _not_ saying anything should Gwen go very much out of line as _she_ was inclined to do. It wasn't all just harmless fun.

Minerva, too, opened her nightgown drawer and pulled out a neatly folded wad of white and turned her back to the other girls as she started undressing.

It was strange, how vulnerable she really seemed to feel half-naked, even in a room of females. It was not any sort of inadequacy-Minerva knew after years of studying herself in a mirror that she was quite pretty-the problem was that she knew that she was not the same as her fellow Gryffindors. Whereas they had warm memories of snogging and boys going just a little too far, Minerva had hardly kissed anyone. She took no shame in this by any means (teenage boys were such idiots and let their hormones control their every move), but it did make her different. Minerva had never really wanted any boy the way she was supposed to and for some reason, she felt that her body betrayed her in this way.

The cotton gown clung snugly to her breasts and flowed out nicely below after it slid onto her shoulders. She smiled softly to herself, aware of how much more comfortable it felt to be wearing something again.

She flipped over her covers and crawled into bed. Her eyes scanned the stone ceiling before she placed a pillow on her head to block out the light. Bedtime. Bed. Time. Time for sleep. Time to close your eyes and drift away.

Minerva's fingers twitched at either side of her body. She turned her head towards Gwen who was going through her stockings, looking for holes. The Head Girl turned the other way and glanced at Helen who appeared to have picked up an old fashion magazine. Stupid; Minerva rolled her eyes. If she'd only just _do it_, all three of them could sleep. Instead, Minerva was stuck with a pillow over her head and an inability to find slumber.

She rolled onto her back and threw her arms above her head. Her pose did not change in an effort to find the prized Slumberland.

Perhaps she did find sleep momentarily, but the waves were interrupted by her dorm-mates' voices.

"Are you going to meet him tonight, Gwen?"

"I don't think so," her voice came absent-mindedly, "He was being an arse earlier. I shouldn't reward him for bad behavior."

Min blinked and then decided it wasn't worth worrying over. Gwen was a tart of a seventeen year-old if ever there was one.

* * *

The drinking water was having a good day, Minerva nodded with approval and put her glass back on the table before moving on to the eggs that were not eggs. They were less impressive. By her sixth bite she had to wash them down with water. Oh well, one did what one had to do.

Looked like it was going to be sunny today according to the ceiling, thank Merlin. At least the classrooms would have a bit of happy light in them, even if that's where she was stuck all day. A smile fell on her face out of optimism.

Minerva looked over her shoulder as she watched Jez pass her and take a seat beside her. He nodded politely and put a hand on her shoulder, "Sorry if I was rude last night." The boy started piling the lie that was eggs onto his plate.

She shook her head as she watched him do it in slight disgust, "It's forgotten."

He cleared his throat, "I didn't mean it. About the broom. You were just doing your job and I know that. I don't want things to get strange between us."

Minerva's eyes lifted up to look at his and nodded with wide eyes, "It's forgotten, Jez."

"You say that," he shoveled lie-eggs into his mouth, "but you've made me pay before for stupid things I've said."

A deep sigh of frustration. She really had nearly forgotten about that and now the urge to hit him was quickly returning. Her voice was calm, "Jez,"she nodded, "it. is. forgotten. Eat your eggs. You'll be late for class if you don't."

He did as he was told but continued speaking with a full mouth, "These eggs are rubbish!"

"Have some toast. At least we know that's real." The girl tapped her thigh anxiously and unconsciously.

He cocked his head to the side as if trying to make sense of what she'd just said. Another heap of yellow protein found its way into his mouth, "Course these are real. I'm eating them." He reached out for a piece of toast anyway.

A slow nod. Better not tell him. The girl's lips twitched down and then up once she realized what she was doing. "Try some salt. It helps," her voice came out in a pleasant tone that did not belong to her.

She reached down for her bag which was the heaviest it ever was-Monday was her busy day, containing Charms, History of Magic, and double Potions with the day closing off with quidditch. At least she liked school, at least she _liked_ learning-otherwise it would be far too much. She threw the bag over her shoulder and stood up in an effort to get away.

"You off, then?"

Minerva nodded, "I am. I'll see you in class later," she shot him a nice smile and turned quickly in the direction of the doors. Her walk was quicker than normal, powered by the strong desire to get the hell away from the sub-par food and sub-par company.

Jez's heart was in the right place, she knew, and he could have been worth chancing, but he wasn't for her. When the right one came, she would know it. He wasn't at the school-that was for certain. And if he had been, he was out fighting in the war. There were only so many choices and none of them appealed to Minerva.

It was better that way, she reminded herself-she was in school to learn, not romance or be romanced. In another nine months she would be free of Hogwarts and go somewhere far away, somewhere other than Europe. She would make a name for herself. She was better than everyone else, just hopelessly stuck with adolescents and determined to prove it.

Maybe once the war was over (both magical and muggle) she would return to Europe and fall in love with someone special. Minerva could wait for the right one. She was patient. Still, it didn't stop the part of her that was still very young from wanting the opportunity to fall in love. She wished it was that easy.

The girl took special note of the way the sun seemed to bleed into the corridors as she made her way to Charms. It was nice to get a few good days in-she was tired of the fog that seemed to have been amplified since the muggles started blowing up their countryside and cities. It was a glorious change.

She stopped just outside the classroom and looked onto the lake with a soft smile, enjoying the slight heat that hit her face through the window. It was a lovely day out with the water shimmering in the sun; beautiful blue.

"Miss McGonagall, could I convince you to open the door for me?"

Minerva turned and nodded to Professor MacFadyen who had a particularly large box of something particularly heavy in his arms. She rushed over to the door to push it open and held it for the man.

He dropped the box on his desk with a thud and let out a sigh of relief as he breathed hunched over it.

The man didn't look well. "Can I get you anything, Professor? Water?" Minerva furrowed her brow, unsure of what to do.

The 80-odd-year-old Professor put out a hand and moved his head in the negative, "It's fine, I'm just exhausted from that trek. Next time I'll just," he inhaled deeply and stood upright, "I'll just keep switching spells to get it up here. Merlin," he stretched out his arms, "It's only two floors! You'd think I could make it that far!" he waved his arms.

MacFadyen reached around his desk and took out a letter opener with frustration, which he promptly used to open the box. He looked up to Minerva who had not moved out of concern. "Take a seat Miss McGonagall. Thank you," he nodded kindly to Minerva.

She bobbed her head and sped to take a seat in the front. The girl took no time in taking out her quill, ink and book. Ready.

A slow tap on her shoulder sent a shock through the girl's system which caused her to jump a wee bit. Her head shot to see where the contact came from.

"Have an extra quill?" a deep voice said.

Minerva turned more, unable to place the voice, and was the slightest bit surprised to see Heinrich who rarely spoke to anyone, much less someone who wasn't in his House.

"Of course." She smiled softly and began rummaging through her bag. Her hands carefully slid over her quill pouch and pulled out a plain black quill. 'I do,' she enunciated as she handed it to him high-spiritedly.

The boy took it gratefully, "Sorry about this. Someone is probably playing a joke on me. I'm very grateful."

"It's no problem at all," she shook her head.

Heinrich nodded, "I'll return it after class. Thanks again." Without dallying, the boy walked up to his seat in the back where he no doubt felt the most invisible. Minerva watched him on his way and gave an encouraging nod when he looked back down at her.

It was nice to see him smile back.

Minerva turned back to her things, though her mind was not on them. His words ran repeatedly through her mind. Someone was likely to be playing a joke on him, but it was probably not very good-natured. She sighed. She wouldn't want German blood in her for anything-not now, not with all the hatred in the country.

The girl made a mental note to keep an eye on Heinrich.

Why would she be named Head Girl if she wasn't going to use her power?

* * *

**R&R SVP**


	5. Honey and Vinegar

**Chapter Five: Honey and Vinegar**

The rain came as it often did.

Albus nursed a cup of coffee as he looked up at the ceiling. He had to practically beg for it, but he had it and was taking his dear sweet time in consuming it. Beside him sat his morning mail. Happy Tuesday, indeed.

A sigh escaped his lips.

"Something wrong?" Rudolph Tate put down his muggle newspaper on the breakfast table.

Albus clicked his tongue, "It appears that I have an admirer."

"Oh?" Rudy raised an eyebrow, "Lucky you."

Albus shook his head with clamped lips, "It's a student," and pushed the letter Rudy's way. The defense against the dark arts professor picked it up and looked it over carefully before passing it back.

Rudy cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Any idea who it is?"

"I have a few ideas," Albus nodded and took another sip of his coffee, allowing his mind to wander.

He was inclined to believe it was an older student, based on the penmanship: a first year didn't print that well. In any case, a first year didn't express things that well. Albus read the letter once more and flipped it over, soon covering it with his plate of dry toast. It wasn't that he was embarrassed and it wasn't even that he was angered by it-he was simply dismissive of everything it stood for.

He could see in his mind some faceless girls standing in a circle, chatting away about how so-and-so finally sent a letter to confess her interest. How the others were shocked and excited, ready to see if this little mystery took them anywhere. Albus rolled his eyes.

It was natural, he knew, and found no fault in it, but he did so wish it would be anyone but him. There were so many other things he could be thinking about.

After taking a final swig of his coffee, Albus gave a nod to Rudy and stood up. "Finished with the paper?"

Rudy looked down at his stack and then nodded, "You wanting to read it?" He handed his muggle newspaper over. "Send it back when you're finished. Cora is keeping all these big articles. I'd hate to bare her wrath this early," Rudy smiled pleasantly.

"Of course not! I wouldn't wish that on any man" the transfiguration professor agreed emphatically and took it with a polite nod after gathering the rest of his things. He walked brusquely out of the Great Hall in the direction of his classroom, only to be stopped halfway.

His jaw had just the time to drop before the four boys saw him and ran in the opposite direction. "Petrificus totalis!" he yelled in succession, stopping each boy as they tore off. And all was silent in the hall.

His feet carried him swiftly to the side in the shadows where the smell of vinegar had already begun to cling. With a wave of his wand, the vines that had previously restrained this boy, this scared, bruised boy, fell away along with his tears. Albus dropped to his knees then reached out gently to remove the strips of cabbage that were in Heinrich's eyes, soon followed by his handkerchief. "Here, use this," Albus said gently to the boy who, despite his ropes being removed, did not seem inclined to move.

"What is all this?!"

There was no reason to turn, for who else could it be but Armando?

A tall figure stood next to the crouching Albus. He looked up at the Headmaster who looked far more impassive than he had a right to. "Get him up," Armando said without emotion and walked over to the other boys, freeing them as well.

Albus turned back down to Mr. Hauf. By contrast, the transfiguration professor's voice was, if one were to listen to all of the layers of sound to come from his mouth, shaky, "Are you able to get up, Heinrich?"

"Yes," was all the boy said and leaned forward as the sauerkraut fell first to his lap and then onto the floor. He took Albus's hand to stand up. Merlin, his face was so red-whether that was the product of the vinegar on his skin or the product itself, the professor did not know.

"Alright, then?" Albus nodded with encouragement at the boy who gave a subtle nod back. The professor turned to analyze the crowd of onlookers that had formed in search of a suitable escort. He pointed a finger and gestured for Hamish Featherwaite to come hither. "Mr. Featherwaite," he leaned in and said softly, "Please be a companion to Mr. Hauf as he makes his way to the hospital wing. Don't worry about being late to class." The Head Boy nodded his head and put his arm around Heinrich, leading him off in the opposite direction.

Albus did not dwell on watching them leave for he absolutely did not want to miss the punishment that would befall the four bullies whose faces he had yet to see. Merlin, he hoped they all landed on their noses.

Down the hall, the clump of boys was made with the Headmaster in the center. The professor joined without a second thought, maintaining his silence as Armando rattled on, "...help no one by acting out this way. Next year you all will have the opportunity to go and fight the enemy. The enemy is out there, not in here. Go to class."

The fourth years quickly turned and dispersed, but not before looking in the direction of the professor that found them. Albus blinked, taking very special note of each of their faces. There was an unequivocal shame when one realizes that they belong to one's house. Disappointment filled his face.

Armando placed a hand on the Head of House's shoulder, "They were just being boys."

Albus stared at the man. Did he really just say that? Did he really just suggest that there was nothing wrong with what he just witnessed? The professor felt his face grow red, "They were _just being boys_?" he raised an eyebrow and both hands in the air.

The Headmaster gave Albus a meaningful look. "We will discuss this incident at the meeting tonight," the man said with finality and walked off in the direction of his office.

By powers unknown to him, Albus was able to stop himself from reaching for his wand as Armando took a purposeful trudge.

He let out a heavy breath. At least they were in his house-punishment would be easy. He breathed in and out his no doubt flared nostrils for a few more moments to survey it all.

Armando was wrong: the enemy was everywhere.

* * *

R&R SVP


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